


Ma Halamshiral

by geekyjez



Series: Isii Lavellan [27]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Dancing, F/M, Halamshiral, Masks, New Relationship, Orlais, Sexual Tension, Slow Dancing, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:56:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2908469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyjez/pseuds/geekyjez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Solas x Lavellan) Isii has always dreamed that one day she would be able to see Halamshiral, the stolen homeland she’s heard tales of since childhood. But once her role as Inquisitor sends her to the Winter Palace, she finds it more of a struggle than she could have imagined. She has never had much patience for shemlen politics…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Learning the Steps

Isii had always liked Josephine. She was a good woman; sweet but direct, powerful in her own delicate way. She never appeared to have a problem with her being Dalish, unlike some of the other shemlen. Despite the vast differences that lay between them, Isii had always found the Ambassador a pleasure to talk to.

Now she was dangerously close to throttling her.

“Keep your head up, Inquisitor. You can’t keep staring at your feet.”

Isii clenched her jaw, scowling into Dorian’s chest. The steps were not too horribly difficult to manage. When she had practiced barefoot, alone in her room, the routine seemed remarkably easy. Now, with her feet shackled into cumbersome shemlen shoes and a partner in her arms, all grace fell away from her. While it was not difficult to keep time with the slow tune their bard played, she could not manage to place her feet correctly. She was tense with frustration as she knocked knees with the glib Tevinter, his smirk growing with each fumble.

“You’re quite wretched at this, you know.”

She looked up to his face, suddenly hating the height he bore over her. “Well perhaps if I had a better partner to lead me, I wouldn’t be tripping so much.”

He bent down, murmuring in her ear as he pulled her into another turn. “Maybe you’d prefer your little elven apostate?” His grin was smug as he leaned back.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh come now. It’s not as if you and Solas are a secret. The goings on in your bedroom are the talk to Skyhold. You should hear the things Sera has to say on the subject.” Isii scowled, looking away. “She blushes! So you have bedded him, then?”

Glaring, she stomped on his foot. The man yelped, surprised as she quickly stepped away, still holding him in the dance. A sweet smile crossed her lips. “Oops.”

He laughed warmly, leading her into the next step. “Message received, my Lady. But only because I know I’ll wear you down into giving me the details eventually.”

“Really now?” She asked.

“Oh yes. I can be quite charming. Look at this face. Is this not the face you would tell all your dirty little secrets to? If not, then I’m losing my touch.” She could not help but laugh, the sound shaking off some of her tension. As much as she disliked him prying into her private life so aggressively, he was the only one among her companions she’d be likely to tell if such provocative details existed. Dorian was a good friend. A sly and occasionally obnoxious tease, but a good man nonetheless.

“Focus, please.” Josephine pleaded.

Isii began the count again. She stood alongside Dorian, her hand held aloft in his own, taking a few measured steps before dipping into a sweeping curtsey. This part did not challenge her, nor the following steps where she pressed her palms to his own. It was when his hand slipped to her waist, trying to sweep her into a twirling pass that her feet lost their purchase. Confident strides became awkward shuffles as the Tevinter mage laughed.

“I cannot do this in these shoes.” Isii grumbled. “They are throwing me off balance.”

“You cannot go barefoot into the Winter Palace.” Josephine said.

“I’ve seen the way the Orlesians dress. They wouldn’t see my boots under a mountain of skirts.” She snapped, frustrated.

Josephine sighed impatiently as a low chuckle rumbled in Dorian’s throat. “Inquisitor, if you are going to play The Game, you have to look the part. In Orlais, appearances are extremely important. Every inch of you will be scrutinized, from your clothing to the way you move. If you do not present an image they respect, they will tear you apart. We have commissioned clothing and masks to be crafted for you and each of your attendants. Great cost is going into making certain the Inquisition leaves a positive impression on the court. You cannot throw that all away over a pair of heels.”

Dorian eyed the Ambassador with a grin. “Make certain my wardrobe shows a little skin, would you dear? I do hate those stuffy high collar numbers.”

The Antivan pursed her hips. “Once more, you two. Start from the beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma Halamshiral - "The End of My Long Journey"
> 
> I humbly submit the beginning of Isii’s trip to Halamshiral, as requested. This fic is a lot longer than many of my other ones. Over the course of this story, you will notice more in-game dialogue than usually shows up in my writing, but much of it has been tweaked to fit my take on the scene and some of it shifted around for the sake of time, pacing, and creative license.


	2. New for Her

She absolutely hated the sound of them.

The clicking, the ever-present hoof-clop of shemlen heels echoed with each of her steps. She felt ridiculous wearing them around Skyhold, but Josephine had insisted that she needed to learn to walk in them with ease. Dorian had equated her stride to a nug on stilts. The comment had not gone over as well as he’d hoped.

Why would shemlen women ever put their feet into such things? They pinched at her toes, made it feel as if the bones in the ball of her foot rubbed against each other with each step. They were not practical for walking or standing and certainly not running. They obliterated any attempt at stealth with their percussive tapping. They served no purpose that she could determine other than to leave her hobbled.

It wasn’t as if she rejected the concept of shoes entirely. It had become necessary for her to adjust to wearing them simply to keep warm in the Frostbacks. She never understood how Solas could stand to have his bare feet in the snow, but it was not a sensation she could tolerate. For weeks now she’d been wearing some form of boot and she no longer missed feeling the ground on her skin.

Boots were one thing. These shoes were simply intolerable.

She ducked into Solas’s study, not pausing as she made her way to the couch. She sat, bending forward, her fingers worrying the buttons that ran down the side of her ankle. He looked up from his reading curiously.

“Still going through Josephine’s training, I see.”

“I am going to murder these shoes.” She grumbled, yanking her foot free before beginning to disengage the second one. “I am going to find a way to bring them to life, imbue them with consciousness and then kill them.”

He chuckled softly as he marked his place in the book, closing it. “The ball is less than a week away. Do you feel adequately prepared?”

She freed her other foot, letting out a slow sigh as she pinched the sore flesh of her sole. “Prepared to deal with shemlen politics? I am as ready as I will ever be.”

She watched as he rose from his chair, joining her on the couch. His face was as drawn and serious as ever, but she noticed more warmth in his features when he looked at her now. It was subtle, but it was there ever since they shared their first kiss outside of the Fade.

Whatever this was between her and Solas was still very new. The ambiguity of their relationship lingered – she was uncertain where exactly he intended for this to go. Nevertheless, she sank pleasurably into the mixture of affection and desire that this newfound love affair brought to the surface. There were days she felt incapable of having him leave her side, if only to share more time in his company. She considered herself too old to feel the same giddiness she had with earlier girlish loves and yet he brought that out of her now. While they tried to maintain their usual working relationship when on missions with the others, there were plenty of times where they made excuses to slip away, stealing kisses like a pair of desperate adolescents. They would laugh about it later, say it was for the best if they kept their affections less public. Inevitably, though, they would find themselves once again hiding behind a stretch of rock on the Storm Coast or curled up at the base of a tree in the Hinterlands, unable to resist the urge to give into one another for a time.

She was fascinated by how his behavior subtly changed over the few weeks since that first kiss. He smiled more. Laughed more freely. He spoke more often in mixed company, allowing his clever wit to show. She suspected this newly expressed banter and wordplay had always lingered in his private thoughts, but now he gave them voice. The changes were not so obvious that she thought the others would see – but they were certainly there.

She liked to think that she was making him happy.

She was still pinching her heel when he settled into his place beside her. “Here.” He said, patting his leg. “Put your feet up.”

She extended her legs, resting her feet in his lap. She could feel the cool tingle of his magic on her skin as he lightly rubbed the ache with his fingertips. She leaned her head back, sighing.

“I am not looking forward to the ball.”

“I have no doubt you will handle yourself gracefully.”

“It’s not that.” She said, pinching the deep bridge of her nose. “The shems and their party don’t worry me enough to keep me away. It’s just… It’s Halamshiral.”

“You still hold it as a place of importance for you?” He asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. “It was a pale imitation of what came before. The elves failed in their attempts to rebuild anything close to Arlathan.”

“But do you not see that it holds an importance of its own? It was never going to be Artlathan, but it was our home. The Dales were promised to us. Our ancestors sacrificed everything to migrate to Halamshiral and build it from nothing – just for the shems to take it.” She peered at him. “We are going to the homeland that was stolen from us. Do you honestly not feel any discomfort in that?”

“Why should I?” He asked with a shrug. “Halamshiral was never my home. It was not taken from me.”

She frowned. “For someone who holds such a fascination with history, you are surprisingly unconcerned.”

An annoyed crease formed in his brow as he looked down, focusing on her feet as he spoke. “The Dalish hold Halamshiral up as some illustration of what was lost, of the wrongs done to them. But it is not the city itself that they mourn. It is what it represents, what you lack as you wander in your aravels: a land to call your own. I can understand that. I do not have to hold the same views to be sympathetic. The elves have certainly been wronged and have lost more than you could truly comprehend. This should be corrected, the world made right again. But Halamshiral is simply a place – no better than any other.” His thumb pressed a spot in the ball of her foot that elicited a small groan. A brief smile passed over his lips.

“Will you do this for me at the Winter Palace?” She asked with a laugh. “I cannot imagine how I will manage to walk after standing around in those wretched things for the length of the evening.”

“I suppose I can, if you have need of it. It is not much different than healing your wounds on any of our other excursions.” He added with a soft laugh. “There may be some quiet corner we can find so I can tend to you.”

Her smile deepened, her brow lifting. “Scampering away to some private corner of the ball?” She said, pulling her feet from his lap, leaning forward. “Why Solas, people will get the wrong idea.” She teased. His smile was patient as she leaned forward, drawing his chin to turn his head, bringing her lips to his softly.

She teased his mouth open with her tongue, drawing a low hum from him that made her stomach flutter. She pulled her lips from his, hovering close, their breaths mixing as she nuzzled her nose alongside his own. She grinned, nipping his lower lip between her teeth, lightly licking the flesh before pulling away. He moved forward to close the distance only for her to pull back again, stifling a giggle. His eyes narrowed, a wolfish smile curling his lip as he cupped the nape of her neck, pulling her close and slating his mouth over hers. She liked to tease him with her kisses as he always rewarded her with hungered desire. She shifted her body closer to his, his free hand finding her waist just as a voice echoed down through the rotunda.

“For someone who was all denials earlier, you’re not exactly being subtle!”

Isii pulled away, glaring up into the overhanging levels above. Dorian leaned over the banister, letting out a peel of laughter before disappearing from view, a few curious onlookers glancing down to see what the fuss was about.

She could not help but chuckle, particularly when she saw the annoyed look Solas shot upwards, his nose wrinkled in a way she found strangely endearing. Despite their closeness, the moment had passed, his hand self-consciously slipping from her waist. She nuzzled her face against his jaw, humming. “Apparently we are quite the topic of discussion among the others.” She murmured.

“Are we now?”

“According to Dorian, anyway.”

“And what are they saying?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. But from what I hear you and I will probably want to avoid Sera for a bit unless we want to hear it for ourselves.”

“Ah. One more reason to avoid her.” He said with a small laugh. “I will be certain to keep that in mind.”


	3. The Noble Savage

The carriage rumbled across the cobblestone streets, jostling Isii’s body against the thinly padded bench. The interior was roomy but she still felt cramped, stuffed into the corner in order to make space for the unnecessary layers of rustling fabric that clung to her form.

She felt like a doll. A life-sized poppet dressed for the amusement of the Orlesian court and she hated every second of it.

The dress had been Josephine’s idea. Apparently breathing was an optional task for the fashionable women of Orlais. The bodice was tight and corseted in silks the color of cream, embroidered in a way to imitate Elvish design. The only color in the piece was a shock of green silk across her bust, silver stitches marking a pattern of leaves and delicate branches, drawing eyes to the last place she ever wanted them considering the depth of the neckline. She felt like she had a tent billowing at her hips from the full volume of her skirt which she now pinched against her leg in an attempt to not swallow Cullen’s lap in fabric as he sat beside her.

She was already in a bad mood from the hours she had to spend in preparation just to construct this ridiculous appearance. She had to have assistance in every aspect of getting ready – the dress was, by design, impossible to put on by oneself. Her face had been painted and rouged, even though much of it would be hidden behind a mask for most of the evening. Her white hair was brushed and fluffed and twisted and pinned until her patience wore thin. She had to fight the urge to snarl at the poor women who had been hired to assist her. They were only doing as they had been instructed. It wasn’t their fault she had to be in this costume.

While the rest of the members of her party were allowed to specify the design of their masks, Josephine had chosen Isii’s without consulting her. The Inquisitor picked her fingers idly over the half-mask in the shape of a halla, its spiraling antlers designed to lift up and arc gracefully over her head. She understood the symbolism of it. The shemlen knew little of the Dalish but they did know they were associated with the halla. Josephine had chosen this mask, along with the dress, to present her as the Orlesian ideal of the noble savage: the exotic Dalish beauty.

The Ambassador had never stopped to think how that would make Isii feel to actually wear it.

This was an insult, an indignity. She was to be paraded around as some human ideal of what it was to be an elf, one who still remained free from the Andrastian alienages. It highlighted her otherness while robbing her of what actually defined her as Dalish. She was there as a leader, not to fulfill some human fetish for the alluring primitive. The detailing on the mask and the clothing was meant to look Elvhen, but it was a vague and pale imitation, a mockery made by shemlen hands.

Josephine had meant no insult in it. Isii knew that. She was a human and would not understand such things. But there was a carelessness in her ignorance that still hurt.

She looked out the window, studying Halamshiral as it passed by. She could see some spots of greenery, but much of it was covered in human architecture – stone and wood and iron, heavy and permanent, built on the bones of what was once the Elvhen homeland. Whenever she heard stories of Halamshiral, she always pictured it as a lush paradise filled with soft grasses and tall strong branches to climb. What she saw before her was pompous and distinctively human – separating themselves as far from the natural world as they possibly could.

“Are you even listening, Inquisitor?”

Isii lifted her eyes from the window, looking into Josephine’s expectant face. “Sorry. I drifted away for a bit there.”

“Can’t blame you.” Cullen muttered quietly.

Josephine shot the Commander an unamused glance before continuing. “The political situation in Halamshiral hangs by a thread. The Empress fears our presence could sever it.. which is exactly why the Grand Duke was only too happy to invite us as his guests. Whether we act as his allies or simply upset the balance of power with our presence, he gains an opportunity, if not a clear advantage. I must warn you before we arrive: how you speak to the court is a matter of life and death.”

“You have said this already, Josephine.” Isii grumbled.

“And you must take my warnings to heart. It is no simple matter of etiquette and protocol. Every word, ever gesture is measured and evaluated for weakness.”

“You make them sound like a pack of wolves.”

“They are much the same. The Game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must never reveal your cards. When you meet the Empress, the eyes of the entire court will be upon you. You would be safer in the Fade with a Fear demon.”

“Stop pestering, Josie.” Leliana chided, her eyes looking especially pale behind the dark façade of a raven that hid her expression. “We have prepared her for this. She is more than capable.”

“At least you have shown wisdom with those you’ve chosen to bring with us this evening.” Cullen offered, his mask pushed up on his head, the bared teeth of a lion above his brow. “Dorrian is well-acquainted with such affairs and I am certain Solas will keep to himself and quietly watch as usual. Though I am still wondering why you chose to leave Vivienne behind.”

Isii gave a strained smile, halfway to a wince. “She is not exactly one of my greatest supporters. In all honesty, I’d spend the entire evening worrying that she was going to consciously sabotage me with a few well-paced words to the wrong people. I don’t know what her aims are, but I get the distinct impression they aren’t in alignment with my own.”

The carriage ceased its rocking, slowly drifting to a stop. The gates of the Winter Palace lay before them, grand and imposing. “Are you certain Cole was a wise choice?” Josephine asked cautiously. “There is still much about him that we do not know. He is not exactly the most—”

“Who better to snoop around than someone who can literally go unseen?” Isii asked, her brow lifting. “He understands his instructions. He’s only to reveal himself to the other guests if he makes them forget.” Attendants reached the carriage door, opening it to allow for their exit.

“We could have at least gotten him dressed for the event.” Josephine muttered as she lowered herself out of the carriage, careful not to catch on her skirts.

Isii laughed brightly, following. “So he wouldn’t look like some vagrant to the people who won’t be able to remember him seconds later? There would be no point. Besides, he is awfully attached to that hat.” She tried to put on an air of grace, struggling not to trip on the hem of her dress as she stepped down, her heeled shoes catching her off balance for a brief moment. The slip went thankfully unnoticed.

“All will be fine.” Leliana added as she and Cullen made their way out of the carriage. “We will be watching closely, should anything go awry.”

Josephine let out a worried sigh, slipping on her mask – a golden hare with white porcelain detailing. “Andraste watch over us all,” she muttered as they approached the gate.

The courtyard beyond was filled with loitering nobles sharing disingenuous pleasantries, their faces covered with a wide array of shapes and colors, each mask trying to outdo all others with its finery. Isii slipped her mask into place, the metal feeling strange against the high slope of her nose. She stole a glance behind her. The second carriage, the one carrying the rest of her party, had not yet arrived. A small private smile curled her lips as she imagined the interesting company the three of them must be keeping at the moment. While initially quite antagonistic with one another, Solas and Dorrian had fallen into a strained camaraderie. She suspected this was primarily due to her influence – her fondness for both of them causing the pair to soften some of the rougher edges that used to grate at one another. Dorian was less insulting with his jokes now and Solas more patient with his responses. So long as the discussions stayed on the finer points of magical technique and not on Tevinter and their slaveholders then they appeared to get along well enough.

“Inquisitor Lavellan!” Isii turned to see a masked Orlesian approach, bowing his head.

Josephine was quick with her introduction. “May I present to you Grand Duke Gaspard. I see you are already familiar with the Inquisitor.”

He lifted his head once more, his eyes taking a careful study of her from behind his golden mask. “How could I not spot such a stunning specimen from the crowd? No introductions are necessary – in fact, all eyes at this court will know of you upon first glance.” He smiled. “It is an honor to meet you at last. The Dalish have done well to produce such a wild and exotic beauty.” Isii clenched her jaw tightly behind her pleasant smile. “With your achievements so far, I feel blessed to have you at my side. Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais.”

“You honor me with the suggestion.” She replied sweetly. _Non-committal, as we practiced._

“Keep the image firmly in mind. We may see it materialize by the end of the evening.” He lowered his tone. “I am not a man who forgets his friends, Inquisitor. You help me, I will help you.” Gaspard slowly strolled away. Isii felt a sharp nudge on her back from Josephine. Reluctantly, she followed.

“My lady, are you prepared to shock the court together? The Dalish Herald walking into the Grand Ball on the arm of a hateful userper?” His lip curved below the edge of his mask. His eyes were gleaming, focused on her. “We make quite the pair. They will be telling stories of this into the next age.”

“Then I suppose we should make a show of it. I would hate for their tales of this night to be dull.” She said with a false smile. She hated this already. She detested feeling like she could not speak her mind. This would likely prove to be a very long evening if she let it irritate her this easily.

Gaspard laughed. “Ah, you are a woman after my own heart, my Lady. An elf like no other.”

She wanted to lecture him about Orlesian attitudes towards elves, but instead she took a patient breath. “You’d be surprised.”

He hummed slightly, leaning closer. “I look forward to any surprises a woman such as yourself may provide.” Her skin crawled at what she could only assume was his attempt at a seductive tone. She took a small comfort knowing his flattery was probably just as genuine as the smile she kept plastered to her face. “I do not wish to presume, but perhaps there is a matter you could undertake this evening concerning another of your kind. An elven woman named Briala – I suspect that she intends to disrupt the negotiations. My people found these ‘ambassadors’ of hers all over the fortifications. Sabotage seems the least of their crimes.” He took her hand in his, kissing the back of it lightly. It took all her willpower not to snatch it away from his lips. “If you could discreetly look into it, I would be ever so grateful. While I detest The Game, it is important that we play it well. If not, our enemies will paint us both into convenient villains.” He did not release her hand, instead guiding her into taking his arm. “We are keeping the court waiting, Lady Elf. Shall we?”

She glanced back in time to see Dorian stepping down from the newly arrived carriage. She considered for a moment excusing herself on the pretense of greeting them. Instead she gave a coy smile and nodded, allowing herself to be lead to the main entrance.

This was going to be a very long night.


	4. The Grand Announcement

“And now presenting Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons and accompanying him Lady Inquisitor Lavellan.”

The room was buzzing with hushed voices as their names were announced, people shuffling to the edge of the gallery to get a better view. She knew her presence would be a surprise, but the number of emotionless masks that turned in her direction made her suddenly self-conscious. They wanted to see the anomaly, the Dalish Andrastian Herald, the elf who had risen to such power in a human-dominated world. The fact that she walked into the hall with the rebel leader made her all the more salacious.

Gaspard continued to hold her arm as they approached the stairs, releasing it only so that he could bow when they reached the first step. Isii looked across to Celene, giving a deep curtsey. The Empress was cool and composed, a serene smile on her face as she dipped a small one back to her. Isii tucked her hands gracefully against her stomach, making her arm unavailable to Gaspard’s reach as she descended the stairs. _Slow. Graceful. Head up. Look proud; powerful. Maintain eye contact. Like we practiced._ “Shepherd and leash of the wayward order of Templars, Purger of the heretics from the ranks of the faithful. Champion of the blessed Andraste herself.” Her steps felt shaky, though her movements were smooth. She still didn’t trust the shoes. _For the love of Mythal, do not trip._

“Did you see their faces?” Gaspard purred from under his mask as they reached the final step, beginning their slow cross of the hall. “Priceless.”

“Accompanying the Inquisitor: Lord Dorian Pavus, Member of the Circle of Vyrantium, Son of Lord Magister Halward Pavus of Asariel.” There were some minor whispered rumbles from the gathered crowd. Still, less of a reaction than Isii had expected. She knew there was some risk in bringing a Tevinter into the Orlesian court. But Dorian knew politics, even if he had little respect for the sport. He was charming and knew how to get people to talk. She needed those skills tonight. She knew he would be walking a few paces behind her as he was announced, each of her party following in turn. Part of her wanted to glance back but she remembered Josephine’s instructions. Keep your eyes forward.

“Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath. Commander of the forces of the Inquisition. Former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall. Lady Leliana, Nightingale of the Imperial Court, Veteran of the Fifth Blight, Senechal of the Inquisition and Left Hand of the Divine. Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva City, Ambassador of the Inquisition. And The Lady Inquisitor’s Elven serving man, Solas.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or be insulted. All these impressive titles and all they do is call Solas her servant? Can they not conceive of an elf holding a higher position in the Inquisition than that, even with a Dalish at their helm? Then again, announcing him as her Fade-wandering apostate wasn’t likely to do either of them any favors.

She desperately wanted to steal a glance backward. It had taken so long for her to prepare for the evening that she’d not seen anyone else save for her advisers and the women hired to dress her. She couldn’t imagine Josephine would let Solas get away with wearing his usual attire to court. Isii tried not to grin at the thought, imagining the look on the poor woman’s face if he chose to disregard such advice.

“Cousin. Dear sister.” Gaspard called out as they neared the platform where Celene overlooked the hall, another woman standing at her side.

Celene curtsied, graceful, her hands floating aimlessly in front of her as if she were always clutching the most delicate of handkerchiefs. “Grand Duke. We are always honored when your presence graces our court.” For a woman who was in the middle of a civil war with this man, her voice was soft and gracious. She played The Game well.

“Don’t waste my time with pleasantries, Celene.” Gaspard bit back at her. “We have business to conclude.”

Celene appeared unmoved, her face tranquil. “We will meet for the negotiations after we have seen to our other guests.”

Gaspard bowed low. Even as his mask hid his face, Isii could see the rigid form of his body, the tension in his muscles. He was clearly annoyed. “Inquisitor.” He said with a curt nod, his eyes pinched in a scowl as he withdrew.

“Inquisitor Lavellan,” Celene began again, her voice soft yet commanding attention. “We welcome you to the Winter Palace. You are a welcome sight in Halamshiral.” _Elves should always be a welcome sight in Halamshiral,_ she thought, pinching her tongue between her teeth. “Allow me to present my cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible.” The Empress gestured to the woman, encouraging her to step forward and curtsey.

“What an unexpected pleasure,” the Duchess began, her tone pleasant but tense. “I was not aware the Inquisition would be a part of our festivities.” The woman eyed Isii, evaluating her. “We will certainly speak later, Inquisitor.” She said with a wary smile, giving a respectful nod to Celene before walking away.

“Your arrival at court is like a cool wind on a summer’s day, Lady Lavellan.”

“You honor me. I hope I prove to be as graceful and refreshing as that throughout the evening.” Isii responded politely.

“We have heard much of your exploits. They have made grand tales for long evenings.” She smiled warmly. “How do you find Halamshiral?”

Isii hesitated. _Halamshiral is beautiful, but poisoned. Stolen and tainted. Built on the ruins of my people._ “I have grown up hearing stories of the splendor of Halamshiral,” she began delicately, “but never did I dream I would be able to see it with my own eyes. Words cannot do justice to how being here feels for me.” _That is far more true than you’ll ever realize, Empress._ “Halamshiral is a beautiful home.” The final words hurt as they fell from her tongue, but she held her composure, smiling, giving a respectful bow of her head.

Celene appeared pleased. “Your modesty does you credit and speaks well for the Inquisition.” She waved her hand lightly over the expanse of the hall, her fingers delicately extended as if caressing the air. “Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom, Inquisitor. We look forward to watching you dance.”

Isii bristled at the thought of everyone watching her stumble through the routines she practiced. She dipped into a deep curtsey. “It would be my honor.”

She rose from the gesture, stealing a slow breath as she turned to leave the hall floor. She was still being watched, she would always be watched here, but she felt as if the first obstacle had been cleared. She made her first impression on the court and succeeded in not making an ass of herself. She could relax a bit. All things considered, that went well.

She stole a glance over to her companions, each making their way from the main floor to the gallery. They had gathered at a distance behind her as instructed – they were not, after all, the people Celene wished to address.

When she caught a glimpse of Solas, she felt a rush of warmth in her cheeks, suddenly thankful for the halla mask that covered her face. He looked very different from what she had come to expect. His clothing was simple, which suited him, but it was impeccably tailored and complimented his lean form. The outfit was not dissimilar from the Keeper’s robes he begrudgingly wore on occasion; a long waistcoat and vest in shades of black and grey, embroidered in an elf-like pattern akin to her own, his waist tied with a green sash. His mask was the most surprising feature, particularly since she knew for a fact he had commissioned it specifically: a silver wolf, the snout extending out from the bridge of his nose, etched in a fashion to imitate Elven design in much the same way hers was.

He glanced to the side, his eye catching hers. She offered a small smile. The grin he returned it with was different. Slanted. Daring.

Not the kind of smile she was used to from him.

She began to divert her course to join him when Leliana approached, her eyes hardened with focus behind her raven’s mask, her grey and lavender dress shushing with each step. “Inquisitor. A word, when you have a moment.” By her tone, it was clear the spymaster demanded her attention immediately.

Isii reluctantly followed the Nightingale as she lead her into the far end of the gallery. She was here on a mission, after all. Certain distractions, as appealing as they may be, would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, _ma fen_. You cheeky bastard. That mask is anything but subtle. :)


	5. The Mask You Wear

Vivienne, if she could be trusted, would have been a good choice for this mission. Blackwall also had his merits that would put him forth as a candidate. Solas suspected that Isii had selected him to accompany her out of affection and favoritism. In other circumstances, he would say her judgment was flawed, that she was letting her feelings guide her decisions.

Little did she know he was the best equipped player of the Game she had within the Inquisition.

He found a comfortable spot, leaning against a decorative statuette. It was a good place to watch and to listen; to hunt without moving a muscle. He’d procured a small plate of frilly cakes which, despite their ridiculous name, he had always had a fondness for. Their texture was smooth on the tongue, buttery and rich. Sweet, but with a subtlety that would have been lost on even the finest pastry chefs in Ferelden. He washed them down with sips of red wine, dark and full-bodied with a pleasant silky finish. Though they did not know what to make of him, the servants were more than generous in refilling his glass. He did not make any gestures to stop them, though he knew he should limit himself at some point in the evening. The things he allowed himself to indulge in were few in number, though the list of his desires had recently been growing. Compared to certain other ideas his mind had been toying with, cakes and wine were simple things.

Most of the humans here were mundane. While their words spoke of lofty ambition, in the end they remarked only on petty squabbles and insignificant gripes. Still, there remained a sense of urgency in their languid socializing. The humans feared one another, feared slipping up, saying the wrong word, posing the wrong gesture. Death, whether literal or political, was a threat that lingered in each of their breaths. _Child’s play._ He remembered when the Game was played for much higher stakes than this.

He could not deny that there was a strong nostalgic pull to being back in such a setting. This was all a dance whose steps he had perfected long ago. Manipulation was once an art form that he tended to with a skilled and dedicated hand. It was the trait Mythal had favored in him most, once. Even those of his kin who lacked patience, who tried to take power through force and bluster, knew to fear his talents. The dance came to him as easily as breathing. He used to relish it; the threat spoken behind kind words, the deceit of subtle machinations to change the sway of another’s mind towards his own favor. It was politics at its politest, a cutthroat scramble for power in the quietest, calmest gestures. The players were different, the stakes they played for had changed, but the Game itself remained the same. It was like slipping into an old familiar skin. In some small insignificant way, he felt like himself again.

For a place defined by its deceit, there was also a strange honesty to be found in the Winter Palace. When here, everyone knew they were playing the Game. They all knew to expect lies and half-truths from one another. It wasn’t like his situation with the Inquisition. There, no one suspected that he was anything but what he said he was. Yet he was performing the same dance with them, telling careful half-truths and evading everyone’s notice with quick and calculated steps.

He was playing the Game well. Even with her.

His thoughts lingered there, longer than he wanted them to. He was uncertain what he was doing with her. She was important to him. Early on, her presence was significant because he needed to use her to retrieve the orb and avoid the possible destruction of the world. These were not small goals and their crucial nature had not diminished. Yet now, she was important in a different way.

After their shared moment in the Fade, he thought he’d be able to let go of this infatuation. He tried for days, but could find no relief. When he spent time in her company, he wanted more from her. He wanted to touch her, to make their kiss a reality of flesh. When he tried to keep his distance from her, he found himself just as distracted. His thoughts never wandered far from her and any attempt at resistance was negated as soon as she made one of her many excuses to be near him.

He knew she was surprised when he told her he loved her. He couldn’t blame her. It would seem rather rushed, considering that he had been trying so hard to behave as if they were simply companions working for a common cause. It had not been said as a deception or a ploy to manipulate her. There was some small part of him that regretted saying it. Without those words, he could try to pretend that this was some dalliance, some side benefit to his temporary alliance with her. Something to enjoy for the moment. An indulgence.

But no. Saying the words aloud made them real. She meant more to him than that.

He saw her approach, the graceful arcing spirals of halla antlers making her easy to spot in the crowd. Her eyes were slowly scanning the masks that surrounded her, clearly looking for familiarity. He wondered how long he could stand there without her notice, watching silently. He knew that if he had any desire not to be seen, he could easily slip away, stay hidden in the shadows beyond the corners of her vision. She was a skilled hunter before she left for the Conclave, but he knew how to hide himself well.

He studied her appearance in more detail now. While it was true that the costume was ill-suited to her, looking far too human, it did have its qualities that were appealing. The tight corset highlighted the small of her waist, illustrating delicate curves that her armor always hid from view. Though her breasts were moderate in size, the bodice lifted them, holding them in a way to create the illusion of fullness and depth. He could not deny the urge to let his eyes linger there a moment, watching them slowly rise and fall with each breath.

It did no harm to look, after all. Another small indulgence.

He was not the only one who noticed such details about her form. The eyes of other men followed her as well. To them, she was some exotic object. A prize. Solas had already overheard enough to know that many of the men in Orlais nurtured a fetish for attractive Elven women. More than once this evening he heard some offhanded comment about where to find the best-looking serving girls. Though hired to work as maids or cooks, it was clear from their context the types of services they were seeking.

The comments had upset him when first uttered, but now they made him quietly seethe as these same men looked at Isii. He knew what they wanted from her; what any man would think upon looking at her. He did not feel jealous, for there was nothing to be jealous of. She would be as equally disgusted by their attention if it crossed her notice. She did not need his protection from them, either. He knew full well that she would struggle to keep herself from coming to blows if one of them propositioned her. But they did not deserve to look at her, to see her as something to be desired. She was beautiful. They would never truly see why. Not the way he could.

She appeared stressed as she looked across the corridor, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed in thought. When she spotted him, she smiled softly, but it was clear she was displeased as she approached.

“You look upset.” He said. “Is the evening already such a displeasure?”

“Leliana gave me a lead to follow up in the Guest Wing,” she began, her voice low, “but I can’t seem to find a single door in this place that isn’t locked. And Cole is doing exactly as I asked him and staying out of sight, so he is of no help to me.” She chuckled softly. “It makes me almost regret not bringing Sera along.”

Solas laughed. “Yes, because she certainly would have been thrilled to spend the evening in a palace full of haughty nobles. Has she developed some ability to hold her tongue that I am not aware of?”

Isii grinned, warmed by the joke. “I said _almost_. She would be a liability on all fronts, but the woman knows how to pick a lock.”

“True.”

“So,” she began, her eyes scanning his face, “a Wolf is it?” He smiled, despite himself. “Any particular reason?”

“Merely a fondness.”

“A Wolf and a Halla certainly make for interesting bedfellows.” She said, drawing herself close enough to murmur in a low, quiet tone as she looked up at him. “Do I need to worry you’re going to bite me, Wolf?”

The smile spread. “Only if you ask me to.” Her eyes widened slightly at this, her lips twitching. Surprised and intrigued. “Was the Halla of your choosing?”

Her expression sank. “Nothing about how I look tonight was my choice.” She said, displeased.

“I assumed as much.” He said, setting the plate of cakes onto the edge of the statuette’s base. “Knowing you, it does have a bit of an inauthentic air about it. I would not say it is displeasing to see, however.” Her smile returned, brightening her eyes as he looked down at her. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to kiss her. She was standing close, her chin tilted up towards him. He had been spoiled by their newfound intimacy, the easy availability of her affections, and it was difficult to deny the temptation now. But she was being watched. It would not be appropriate. Having the Inquisitor be too friendly with her “elven serving man” would cause certain whispers that would not earn her the approval of the court.

A simpler gesture, then. He lifted her hand in his own. As he brought it to his lips, he gently twisted to expose her inner wrist, pressing his lips against the tender skin. He had learned in one of their recent explorations that she was particularly sensitive there. “Emma’asha vhena’sulahn.” He whispered softly against her skin, smiling as he heard the subtle shift in her breathing. A rough translation in the common tongue, _you are my beautiful woman_ , robbed the phrase of its poetry. In Elvish, it was more than that. Beauty was described as something that makes the heart sing. Far more profound in its sentiment.

“Flatterer.” She murmured as he released her hand. He grinned, stealing another sip from his glass. “Where did you get the wine?” She asked. “I could use a drink.”

“Are you certain you wish to imbibe tonight? You wouldn’t want to cloud your judgment.”

“Indomitable focus, remember?” She asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yes. I certainly do. Though if you recall, it is still theoretical whether or not you are indomitable. A theory I’d be very interested in seeing tested.” He couldn’t help but laugh as she peered at him.

“You seem different here.”

“Does that distress you?”

“Not at all.” She said, leaning forward and lowering her voice again. “In fact, I rather like this side of you, Wolf.” She teased. He could not deny that he found some perverse pleasure in hearing her call him that. He wondered if it would continue past this night.

“I will have to take that under careful consideration.” He picked up one of the cakes, letting it rest on his tongue a moment as he thought. “Did you know there are spirits that always hover by the Veil to observe the thrones of powerful nations? The machinations, betrayals… I can understand why. Political gambits, broken promises, half-truths? It is a palace full of motivation. And motivation is where great things happen.” He smiled wistfully, taking another sip. “I had forgotten how much I missed court intrigue.”

Her head tilted. “You’ve been to court before?”

 _Fenedhis._ He paused, seeing his misstep. “Oh. Well, never…” _Perhaps the wine was not the best decision._ He had allowed himself to speak without thought. A risk he had to recognize came with letting his guard down around her. “Not directly, of course.” He said, forcing a small laugh as he set down the glass. “An elven apostate is rarely invited to speak with Empresses and Kings. However, I have seen countless such displays in my journeys in the Fade.” It was not untrue, though he had perfected the dance well before then. “In memories, I have watched dynasties form and empires crumble. It is sometimes savage, sometimes noble. Always fascinating.”

She appeared satisfied with this answer. “Well I’m glad one of us is getting something positive out of this.” She grumbled, snatching one of the cakes from his plate. “While the food is good, I’ve barely had any time to enjoy it. And if I could go the rest of my life without ever dealing with the Game again, I will die happy.” She slipped the cake past her lips, a small bit of her irritation dissipating as she chewed.

“As Inquisitor, it is unlikely that you will live without further courtly machinations. Unless of course the rest of your life is very short, in which case I doubt either one of us will be very happy. The Game is not something to take lightly, but I hope you can see that there can be a source of satisfaction in it, if not pleasure.”

She peered up at him. “You take pleasure in this?”

He leaned in, bringing his lips close to her ear. “I will admit, I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger and _sex_ that permeates these events.” He grinned as he heard the small intake of breath, the subtle shift in her response. “There is something to be said for the delicious _tension_ that creates.” She looked up at him as he pulled back. Beyond the mask, he could see her eyes were gleaming. Enticed. He picked up another one of the cakes, offering it to her with a grin. “Here. I think you will like this one.”

He watched as her eyes scanned furtively around them. They had no audience now. She inclined her chin up, parting her lips, inviting him to feed her. His smile deepened.

_Alright, little halla. I’ll play along._

He brought the cake to her lips. Her tongue came out slowly to catch it, her lips delicately curling around the tips of his fingers, sucking gently for a moment before pulling away. She let out a short, satisfied moan, clearly meant more for his enjoyment than in response to savoring the cake, failing to stifle her grin. She was enjoying this game.

“I don’t think that sort of behavior is going to win you any favor with the court, Inquisitor.” He chided playfully as she swallowed.

She hooked her hand around the snout of his mask, pulling him forward until his ear lingered by her mouth. “It will earn me favor with my Wolf.” She purred, pinching his earlobe gently between her teeth. He could not catch the sound that rumbled softly from his throat, halfway between a groan and a growl. The way those words sounded on her lips stirred something in him. He wanted more from her. He was getting dangerously close to not caring who would see them.

“That is enough for now, vhenan.” He said, pulling away. “You do have job to do tonight.”

She huffed, disappointed. “You’ll find me if you hear anything?” She asked.

“Ma nuvenin.” He murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Emma’asha vhena’sulahn – as said in the text, emma’asha vhena’sulahn means “you are my beautiful woman”. Emma’asha is canon. Vhena’sulahn is a word of my own creation; a combination of vhenan (heart/love) and sulahn (sing). Beauty literally translates as heart-sing, or “something that makes the heart sing.”
> 
> Ma nuvenin – as you wish.
> 
> ***
> 
> This has honestly been one of my favorite scenes to write. I look forward to future moments where I will get to write more about Fen'Harel and his role amongst his peers. Also, I had a lot of fun with the flirtation here.


	6. A Small Kindness

She was walking in circles now, her frustration building with each clicking step on the marble tile. Isii was growing weary of the polite smiles she had to give to passing shemlen, each fawning over the prospect of her attention. Whether out of curiosity or a desire to gain some boon through the association, she could not walk more than a few paces in the Vestibule without another attempt to steal her away for a new exchange of frivolous words.

She doubled back into the main hall, intent on finding Leliana. She wanted to report in, to see if the woman could ferret out some clear path to the Guest Wing that Isii could not find herself. The air rang with dispassionate applause as dancers slowly shuffled off of the main floor. The band began to play their interlude, cueing new dancers to take their places. Another rendition of _Empress of Fire_. It was the third variation she had heard that night. Isii grumbled softly under her breath. She knew she would have that tune trapped in her head for the next week. She slipped through the slow-moving gathering, her eyes scanning the room for her spymaster.

Yet the Nightingale was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, she found Cullen. Even at a distance, she could see his mouth was twisted with displeasure. Isii watched him, pausing only for a moment in her attempt to shift past the other guests. He had a small gathering of people around him, each clearly attentive to the lone Commander. One woman stood very close, clearly speaking though her face remained covered, her hand reaching forward to touch his shoulder.

Beyond his lion mask, she could see a straining tension growing in the corner of his eye.

Isii moved forward, trying her best to brush off those who attempted to speak to her without insult. She could hear the woman’s muffled voice as she drew near. “Has anyone told you that you have the most remarkable eyes?”

“Several times this evening, actually.” Cullen replied, his voice edged with weariness.

“Do you enjoy music, Commander?”

“Everyone enjoys music, Madam.”

“I do adore this song.” She said, her hand still resting on his shoulder as she leaned in. “You must dance with me.”

“I… I must respectfully decline your offer.” Isii could hear his irritation, despite his attempts to hide it. Cullen was never very good at presenting a false face.

“Nonsense.” The woman said with a laugh. Her hand did not retreat from him. “Are you married, Commander?”

“I… no… but—”

“Ah, but you have a lover, then?”

He looked as if he wanted to sink into the ground, to suddenly vanish and be done with it. “I…. I would rather not say—”

“Then it should be no matter, darling.” She said with a coquettish giggle. “Dance with me. The interlude is nearly over. We should take our places.”

Isii normally found it amusing to see Cullen’s stammering discomfort. She had been known to tease him, on occasion, simply to see how quickly she could get him to start stumbling over his words. Yet she could not bear to see how miserable he looked now.

She supposed she could make a small offering to help a friend.

He was still grasping for another polite refusal when she slid herself in next to him, taking his arm. “There you are.” She said brightly as he looked down at her, his body stiffening at the sudden intrusion. “Did you think you would get out of your obligation so easily, Ser Rutherford?”

The name felt strange on her tongue. It was bizarre to call him anything but Cullen. It took a full month of working together after the formation of the Inquisition before she learned his last name. She didn’t even call him Commander unless she was teasing.

He looked down at her, confused, his eyes searching her expectant smile. “Did you not promise me a dance?” She cued him.

His eyes widened slightly as the realization struck him. “Ah. Yes. Yes, I did.” He said hesitantly, his words on uneven footing though he tried to sound assured. He turned to the insistent woman, politely bowing his head. “My apologies, Lady Marais.”

Isii offered a polite smile, imagining the look on the woman’s face to match the irritated huff that muffled against her mask. The Inquisitor led him away, her tone lowering as they shifted out of earshot. “You owe me one.”

“Yes, thank you.” He said, a breath of relieved laughter shaking out of him.

“I don’t think you fully appreciate how much I hate shem dances. I must be rather fond of you to be willing to make such a sacrifice.” As they stepped down onto the dance floor, she felt an uncomfortable tightening in her gut. She knew that the majority of the people in the gallery would soon take notice of her. She breathed deep as they took their positions, steadying herself. “You’d best know how to lead or else Josephine will be furious with me.”

“I’m not one for dancing, in all honesty.” He admitted as the music cued the dance to begin. He took a deep bow as she curtseyed. “The Templars never attended balls.”

“Well, then,” she began as he took her hand, lifting it up, “we shall blunder about equally. Josephine should be appropriately horrified.”

He laughed, a chuckle unique and all his own, snorting softly at the end. He frowned, quickly clearing his throat. Apparently that was not quite the sound he had intended to escape him. Isii could not help but giggle as they took their measured strides together in time to the music.

“I will be perfectly happy if I never have to set foot inside the Winter Palace again.” He grumbled.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one thinking that this evening.” She said, smiling as they turned to face one another, angling to press her palm to his own. “Solas sees value in the Game, but I can hardly bring myself to agree.”

“The backstabbing and the gossip do not bother me nearly as much as the sheer indifference to it all.” He said, pulling her into the first set of spins. “I grew up being taught to have a low opinion of Orlais. Sadly, the nation and its people appear to live up to that low standard more often than not.”

She noted the way he held her, how his hand rested hesitantly at her waist, keeping her at a stiff distance. He seemed distracted. Probably concerned about remembering the steps. Still, he moved with a certain grace, despite lacking confidence. “You’re not quite as bad at this as you made yourself out to be, Cullen.” She offered, both teasing and reassuring. “I feel somewhat deceived.”

He laughed. “Then I suppose I should be grateful for your poor taste in dance partners.”

“We will keep this brief. One dance. Then you’re on your own in finding a way to flee your amorous attendants.” He let out a short, disgruntled groan and she couldn’t help but laugh. “You had quite the crowd gathered around you. Who were all those people?”

He grunted. “I don’t know, but they won’t leave me alone.”

“Not enjoying the attention, then?”

“Hardly. You couldn’t have come along at a better time.”

“Perhaps they are desperate matchmakers catching the scent of a single man.” She said, leaning in. “Josephine told me of such things. Thankfully I am not much of a target. What human would want a pairing with a Dalish heathen?”

His eyes narrowed, his lips parting to speak before closing again, pursed. “I would not take it personally.”

“Believe me, I find it a blessing. The less attention heaped on me this evening, the better.” They parted briefly as she took careful, practiced steps around him, rejoining as he took her hand. “Do you have anything to report? Seen anything, heard anything unusual?”

“No. Though the entirety of this evening is a bit unusual for me. Orlesian social events don’t exactly fall within my area of expertise.”

She smiled warmly. “We have that in common, at least.” He returned her grin before his expression darkened. Even through his mask, she could see worry creeping into his features.

“There are very few here we can trust. You must be careful.”

“Do you doubt my social skills so greatly, Cullen?”

“I… no… that’s not what I—”

The soft ripple of her laughter interrupted him. “I am only teasing. I’m being careful. You don’t have to worry about me, Cullen.” He led her into a turn and she ducked, careful not to catch the antlers of her mask on his arm. “Leliana tells me that Celene has an Occult Advisor. Some mysterious woman, an apostate. I’ve been trying to track her down with little luck. You wouldn’t happen to have heard anything that could help me?”

“Can’t say I have. My apologies, Inquisitor.”

Her lip twisted halfway to a grimace. “Please don’t call me that.”

He looked confused as he peered down at her. “Do you have a problem with your title?”

“It’s better than Herald, but I admit I am still not used to it. Inquisitor is a word that is placed on me, waved in front of shemlen in order to make them fear me. That is not something I am completely comfortable with yet.”

“It would not reflect well in an official capacity for me to call you anything else. If I appear too familiar in certain settings it would send the wrong message. The title of Inquisitor loses some of its power if it is not used.” She scoffed under her breath. “But… well… I suppose… What would you prefer I call you?” He offered. “In private, I mean.”

She shrugged. “Lavellan. Isii. Lethallan. Take your pick.” She could see his confusion at the Elvish word. “Lethallan means friend. Kin.”

He tried to say it. Then it was her turn to snort.

“What?” He asked defensively.

“You say it as if you are chewing the word.” She said with a laugh. He looked less than pleased. She leaned forward. “ _Leth-ah-lan._ ” She coached slowly. “You should sound like you are catching a sigh with your tongue.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly. It was a nervous habit of his, one he seemed more likely to do in her presence. “I will have to practice it then.” He said as the dance drew to a close, lowering his hands as they parted.

“Perhaps you should.” She offered with a laugh.


	7. Idle Chatter

“Maker forbid it be the Tevinter. Did you see how her servant was looking at her, though?” The woman asked excitedly, the words tripping from her tongue in a thick Orlesian accent. “Certainly that must be something.”

“You did not see her dancing with the Commander. It was obvious in the way they moved. And why else would he have been so disinterested in the attention of others? Clearly he is her lover.”

Isii kept moving, trying to stifle her laughter. There were plenty of interesting tidbits of gossip to pick up at the Winter Palace, but this was the first she had heard concerning herself. She considered whether or not she should share that little half-heard conversation with Cullen. The man would be red up to his eyebrows.

She still had not found a way into the Guest Wing. There was only one more path she could take, one more place she could look before she’d have to start breaking down doors. The temptation to try and snap one of the sets of hinges loose with her magic loomed larger in her mind now than it should.

She knew she had wasted time dancing with Cullen. It was a brief amusement, an offering of kindness, but such distractions would only force her to stay in this place longer than she wanted. She turned back down the hall, passing the spot where Solas stood, silently watching. She wanted to stop, to pull him close to her, to indulge in his company and ignore her responsibilities a while longer. She resisted the urge, but allowed her hand to drift toward him as she passed, pinching softly at his hip, offering a wink and a smile. His lips curled into a private grin as he shook his head; her Wolf huffing a small breath of laughter.

She could not help but feel warmed, a bit of her frustration soothed. Even such small gestures made a difference.

The doors ahead let out into a small private garden. Three women, identically dressed and masked, turned as she stepped through the doorway. “My lady!” One called as the three approached excitedly. “My Lady Inquisitor!”

Isii prepared herself for another polite brush off. “May we have a word?” The second woman asked. “It is very important.”

“The Empress has sent us with a message for you.” The third added as they collectively curtseyed.

Isii masked her sigh as she relented. “I am always honored to hear from her majesty.”

“Oh, she is the honored one, Lady Lavellan!”

“Empress Celene is eager to assist the Herald of Andraste in her Holy Endeavor.”

“She will pledge her full support to the Inquisition,” the third noted with a smile, “as soon as the usurper Gaspard is defeated.”

 _Ah. So that’s what this is about. Celene is concerned with my association with Gaspard._ “How generous.” Isii said, her tone a little flatter than she had intended. She consciously tried to warm her face with a smile to cover her annoyance.

“The Empress believes wholeheartedly that the Inquisition is the best hope for peace in these difficult times.”

“She looks forward to cementing a formal alliance.”

“As soon as Gaspard is out of the way.”

 _Gaspard is Celene’s problem, not mine,_ Isii thought, irked. “I can understand her situation.”

“Celene is a respected diplomat and world leader. Not only would she bring the full might of Orlais behind the Inquisition, but she can forge alliances for you with Rivain, Antiva, the Anderfels—”

“And she throws the best parties.”

Isii desperately resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She glanced behind the women, spotting Dorian as he lingered in the garden. _Ah. Good. An excuse._

“Lord Pavus!” Dorian looked up, startled.The shape of his mask dipped low on his brow, following the curve of a peacock's back. One eyebrow tipped over the edge of the mask, lifted curiously when he saw her. “Do excuse me,” Isii said to the trio, “but I need to have words with my associate.”

“Yes, we have taken up enough of your time.”

“Please enjoy the masquerade, Inquisitor.” They offered another collective curtsey and she brushed past them, trying not to rush her steps as she moved the Tevinter’s side.

“So I am Lord Pavus now?” He asked with a gesture of his wine glass. “I feel so important. Am I blushing?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Ah, now that is more like it.” He added with a laugh. “Was there something you needed, or was I simply a convenient excuse to flee unwanted conversation?”

“Both?” She offered half-heartedly, her eyes scanning the area. “You wouldn’t happen to know a way into the Guest Wing, would you? I’ve been walking in circles trying to find an unlocked door.”

“As far as I can tell, that appears to be your only way in.” He said, pointing to an ivy-draped piece of latticework that clung to one of the walls.

Isii frowned. “Fenedhis.” She could see how, if scaled, the lattice could lead to the set of doors on the second level; assuming they were not locked like every other door in this damned palace. “How am I supposed to climb that in this blighted dress?”

“Creatively, I’d imagine. And quietly, unless you want to give everyone in the courtyard quite a show. I could always say it’s some Dalish custom: climbing all over your host’s greenery. Do you think they’d buy it?”

Isii groaned, slipping her hand under her mask to rub the bridge of her nose. “I just want this night to end.”

“Not having fun? Can’t imagine why.” He said, taking a sip of his wine. “This is all too familiar to me. I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd and criticize my manners.”

“Your mother taught you manners?” Isii asked with mock surprise.

Dorian laughed – bright, jovial, cutting. “Didn’t I just turn out a shining example of her efforts?” He said, gesturing to a passing servant to refill his glass. The elf kept his eyes down as he went about his task. It was a disquieting sight for Isii, but Dorian didn’t bat an eye. She supposed he wouldn’t. “Were she here, she’d likely be dragging me out by my earlobe to chide me.”

“I’m having difficulty picturing that.”

“Picture me as a young boy of five years, then. She certainly always has.” The elven servant bowed his head as he withdrew with the carafe, Dorian bringing the refreshed beverage to his lips.

“Have you seen anything out of the ordinary?” She asked, lowering her voice. “Heard anything I should know about?”

“Sadly, no. I’m afraid you may have put too much faith in my skills. Not many Orlesians want to be seen chatting up the Tevinter Lord, even if they were willing to speak to me in private.”

“I’m glad you were willing to come with me tonight. I know it can’t be the most comfortable situation for you.”

“Yes, it is such a hardship to expose myself to all this exquisite finery and exotic wine. A tragedy, really. I don’t know how I will ever cope.” He said with a smirk. “This feels quite familiar, actually. You could almost mistake this for a soiree in the Imperium. The same double-dealing, elegant poison, canapes… it’s lacking only a few sacrificial slaves and some blood magic.” He cocked an eyebrow. “But the night is still young.” She winced at his joke. He gave a non-committal shrug in apology. “Have you seen our dashing Commander? He appeared to be drowning in unwanted attention when I saw him last. Quite amusing to see that man squirm. I dare say I half expected to hear a marriage proposal on the spot from one of those women.”

“And have you suffered much the same?”

He smiled, a sly secretive smile as his voice lowered. “Have I been getting blushing side-eyes? Yes. But unfortunately they have not been the kind that suit my tastes.”

“Probably for the best. I wouldn’t want you to be distracted by some dashing chevalier.”

A gleeful chuckle rumbled in his chest. “No, I suppose that would pose a challenge to my thrilling evening of eves dropping. Unless of course I were to interrogate him… Well, that could prove fruitful, in its own way.” Isii laughed, shaking her head. “Now, hop to it, little wisp. That wall isn’t going to scale itself.”

Isii looked to the latticework, tracing the pathway with her eyes, uncertain how she was going to climb it without making a fool of herself. She would never hear the end of it from Josephine. She snatched Dorian’s glass from his hand, downing the wine in one sharp, oaky swig. He tittered slightly, caught between amusement and objection as she handed him the glass, stepping away toward the wall.

She was really beginning to dislike Halamshiral.


	8. A Moment of Quiet

At least the library held some good things to steal.

She imagined she should feel some sense of shame in the thought, but she honestly could not be bothered. She had no pack or satchel to carry the items in, but she could tuck a few things into the straps she wore on her thighs. She’d been careful to bring a pair of small daggers with her, concealed under the billowing skirts that she now carefully gathered. While a staff was her weapon of choice, she knew she could not exactly bring one into the palace without attracting attention. It would not hinder her from using her abilities. While a staff helped her fine-tune her targeting, she had always made a point to practice performing magic free-handed. It felt more natural that way. Freer. The daggers had their own importance, though. Given her conflict with the Templars, she reasoned it would always be useful to have a blade in case one of them was successful in negating her powers. 

There was something comforting in being up here, away from the prying eyes and ceaseless chatter of the ball. The library was quiet, shadows pooling into the corners where the dim light could not chase them away. If she had her choice, she would simply take refuge in there; give herself a moment to catch her breath, to disconnect from the bothersome portions of the evening and find solace in her solitude. She was letting her frustration build too easily. She knew it was a combination of factors – her distaste for human politics, her impatience with communicating only in subtext, her notion of what Halamshiral represented. She was letting them get under her skin, letting them upset her to the point of needless stress.

She had to calm herself. She needed to find her center again. She slipped the purloined goods into place along her thighs, straightening out her dress.

“They’re missing.”

Isii nearly jumped out of her skin as Cole appeared before her, his eyes wide and insistent. “Andruil enansal, Cole. Don’t do that.”

“The people. They are missing. Like the others. Like before, only not.”

Isii frowned. “Start over Cole. Who is missing?”

“The people with the elf woman. The other one. The one whose name sounded like a song on Celene’s tongue. Briala.” His eyes darted nervously, his brow furrowing. “Her people are in danger here. The others, the servants, the ones who no one sees. They are disappearing. It frightens the ones that remain. The servant’s quarters are supposed to be safe, but there’s blood. No. Don’t. Why? Then screaming.”

“Someone is killing servants in their quarters?” Cole nodded. Isii took a deep breath. “Alright. I will gather the others and find a way down there. Cole, I have been looking for a woman. A mage, like me. She works for Celene. Do you know where I can find her?”

The spirit nodded. “She comes from something old, big, much bigger than herself, much bigger than humans or elves or spirits or demons. Her mind is a locked chest and she hides the key. But she is sad. She has hurts.”

“Everyone has hurts, Cole. I need to know if she is a threat to the Empress.”

“No. She wants the same things you want, only more. She wants to be bigger. She wants to bind herself to the one thing she’s been running away from. She will make herself known to you, but she is not the one you should be looking for.” He smiled nervously. “Did that help you?”

Isii smiled patiently. “Yes, Cole. That helped me. Stay close, but stay hidden. I will likely have need of you soon. Can you do that for me?”

His lips twitched into an uneasy smile as he nodded, phasing out of sight, leaving nothing but a dissipating green haze of the Fade.

Isii made her way through the library, slipping unnoticed back into the public vestibule. She turned toward the main hall, making her way down the steps with measured strides, trying not to show urgency in her movements. She wanted to track down Leliana, to tell her about the servant’s quarters before collecting Solas and Dorian.

“Well, well,” a voice murmured behind her, catching her notice, “what have we here?”

Isii turned to see a woman descending the stairs from the Guest Wing. “The leader of the new Inquisition, fabled Herald of the Faith. Delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the Hand of Blessed Andraste herself.” Her dark lips curled into a smirk, her golden eyes challenging her with her gaze. From her tone, it was clear she put as much faith in that narrative as Isii did.

“What could bring such an exalted creature to the Imperial Court, I wonder?” She continued, studying the elven mage with a scrutinizing gaze. “It has been fascinating to watch you, Lady Lavellan. You have been very busy this evening, hunting in every dark corner of the palace.” Her head tilted, dark hair drifting over her brow. “Perhaps you and I hunt the same prey?”

Isii’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. Do we?”

The woman chuckled. “You are being coy.”

“I am being careful.”

She smiled. “Not unwise, here of all places.”

“Who are you?”

She let out a sigh. “Ah, the formality of introductions. Quite mundane, but alas necessary. I am Morrigan. Some call me adviser to Empress Celene on matters of the Arcane.” She bowed her head, her gaze fierce and challenging as she lifted her head. “I believe we can help one another.”

Isii took a deep breath. More courtly intrigue was not what she wanted right now. Not with elves dying in the servants quarters, not with the impending assassination of Celene.

Still, she had spent most of her night looking for Morrigan. It would probably be best to hear what the woman had to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Andruil enansal – Andruil’s blessings. Andruil is the goddess of the hunt. As Isii is a hunter, it is appropriate she would call to her.


	9. Catching Breaths

She walked as quickly as she could, her pace just shy of a run. Masked faces turned to watch Isii as she dashed through the courtyard. Surely they were confused, possibly even amused at whatever they assumed the nature of her distress was. The Inquisitor tried to remain composed, attempting to add an air of nonchalance to her determined pace. She was breathing hard, her stomach pressing tightly against the corset’s restrictive grip, her lungs unable to catch up with her need. This dress had not been designed with combat in mind. The fight had taken her by surprise. She knew there was danger in the servant’s quarters, but she was not expecting the nest of Tevinter agents she stumbled into.

They had been outnumbered. Normally she would not go into a fight with only three mages to fend off their attackers while Cole waited for his opportunity to strike from the cover of the Fade. In any other circumstance, she would have brought a warrior to take an offensive position. Yet this was the Winter Palace; a place where weapons could not be easily brought in without it symbolizing aggression and intent to do harm. There was a method to Isii’s choice of companions for the evening. A mage could be just as deadly without a staff.

It just made it much harder not to get hit.

They killed the agents they encountered, though Isii felt uneasy knowing there still could be more lurking in some undiscovered part of the sprawling palace. She pressed forward toward the Vestibule, her companions following close behind. She knew Cole was among them, but the boy had already twisted the fabric of the Fade around himself, concealing him from view. Isii was jealous of this ability in a way she’d never been before.

“Tevinter agents, elven spy leaders… Quite the lively party you’ve brought me to, Isii darling.”

“My pleasure, Dorian.” She grumbled, trying not to pant. Her head felt light. Dizzy. “Glad to see you’re having a good time.” Her chest felt tight, her ribs aching as they strained against the constrictive boning. She paused, leaning against a stone column as her head began to swim, feeling her pulse behind her eyelids.

Solas placed a worried hand on her arm. “Are you alright, emm’asha?”

“Mythal’ath, I can’t breathe in this stupid thing.” She said, gasping. “The lacings are too tight.”

His lips pursed, his eyes narrow with concern behind his mask. “Come.” He said, taking her by the wrist. He led her to a quiet corner of the courtyard, hidden from the eyes of the other guests. Isii made no objection when he guided her to turn, letting out a relieved sigh as she felt his nimble fingers tug at the lacings along her back. Dorian leaned against a wall, his arms crossed, his eyebrow raised above the edge of his mask as she glared up at him.

“Not a word out of you.” She growled.

“I can’t imagine what you expect of me, dear.” Dorian grinned. “I’m shocked and a little awed that you did not get any blood on your pretty little dress.” He said, picking his nail lightly over the red speckling that marked his lapel. “Some of us were not so lucky. Apparently you had the right idea, Solas. Black doesn’t show stains.”

“I would be pleased that for once you approve of my clothing if I cared enough about the subject to begin with.” Solas bit back calmly, his eyes focused on his task.

“We have to let the others know the situation has changed.” Isii said, redirecting the conversation. “It’s one thing to know there is a vague threat—another altogether when we are openly attacked.”

Solas’s fingertips slid under the silken cords that bound her, incrementally working his way up her back. It was not long before she felt the pressure lessen. She took a deeper, steadier breath as he retied the laces. “There. That should be more comfortable, vhenan.” He said, placing a soft kiss on the barred skin of her shoulder. Dorian let out a derisive chuckle, met quickly by both pairs of elven eyes narrowing at him.

She turned, thanking Solas with a soft smile before stepping out of their hiding spot. The dress was still constricting, but at least now she could catch her breath. She fell back into quick strides as they entered the Vestibule, headed for the main hall.

“We can’t be certain Gaspard doesn’t have other agents hidden away and I don’t want one of our people accidentally wandering into danger.” She continued, her voice low. “If we split up, we cover more ground, get to them sooner. Dorian, notify Josephine. Solas, Leliana. I will inform Cullen. The three of them should be in the main hall – hopefully they have not wandered off.”

Isii worked her way past the mingling guests that crowded the Vestibule. Unlike earlier in the evening, when her steps were repeatedly slowed by curious courtiers vying for her attention, she was able to move relatively freely. She supposed her entourage could be thanked for the newfound reticence. Even though he looked anything _but_ intimidating with his peacock mask and glib grin, Dorian was a Tevinter. His nationality alone evoked all the stereotypes of evil blood magic wielding magisters that made Orlesians wary. Solas, on the other hand, had an intensity in his look that would dissuade others from approaching. His face was stern, his eyes scanning the room as they moved. She supposed the wolf mask had been a good choice for him. It added to the illusion that he was dangerous and should be avoided.

Isii had only just stepped over the threshold into the main hall when she heard her name called. “Ah, Inquisitor Lavellan.” Isii spotted the Grand Duchess as she drew closer. The elf smiled through her irritation. “We met briefly. I am Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons.” The woman said with a small curtsey. “I wanted to formally welcome you to my party.”

Isii knew she was being drawn into a conversation she did not want to have. Not now. Not when she needed to make certain that her advisers were briefed on the situation. She was racking her brain for some response, some polite way to excuse herself.

Solas leaned close to her ear. “I will inform Cullen for you.” He whispered, giving a nod to Dorian as the two men drew away from her. She both loved and hated him for it. She knew that for the sake of politics she should stay and talk with Florianne, but she wanted any reason to flee. She was running out of patience for Orlesian back-stabbing. She was tired of the charade.

“I suppose it is merely a coincidence that you wish to speak to me now?” Isii didn’t care if the question was blunt. She was openly attacked by a troupe of assassins and now suddenly the Duchess wanted to speak with her. It wasn’t a coincidence.

The woman smiled knowingly. “This is Orlais, Inquisitor. Nothing happens here by accident.” Florianne turned, gesturing with a nod of her head for Isii to follow her as she spoke. “I believe tonight you and I are both concerned by the actions of a certain person. Come.” She said, proceeding to the stairs. “You will dance with me. Spies will not hear us on the dance floor.”

Isii nearly choked on the groan she stifled. “Is there not some quiet corner where we could speak?”

“Do you fear the dance floor, Lady Lavellan?” Florianne asked, amused as she evaluated her with a glance.

“No.” She snapped, trying not to scowl, the corners of her lips straining in her false smile.

“It makes for the best location for such talk. Whatever lovers you keep are in no danger. This is business. Not pleasure.” Florianne walked out onto the dance floor, clearly expecting Isii to follow.

For the briefest moment, the Inquisitor considered simply walking away.

Reluctantly, Isii followed the Duchess, trying to soften her smile as she felt the attention of the room shift in her direction. Seeing the Inquisitor dancing with her Commander was a minor trifle compared to watching her dance with the Empress’s cousin. She had to play the role of the beautiful little Dalish doll they had dressed her up to be while spinning secrets with a woman who was likely well-versed in the Game.

All while dancing.

As they arranged themselves for the dance, it became clear that Florianne intended to take the woman’s role. Isii’s stomach tightened. She’d never learned to lead the dance. Why would she? She was a woman and shem women don’t—

She took her position, grinding her tongue against her molars. _Stupid shem dances. Stupid shem ball. Stupid Halamshiral._

She just wanted to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Emm’asha – my woman, my girl
> 
> Mythal’ath – Mythal’s Love (lath = love). In this context, best translated as “For the love of Mythal”. Not a canon-phrase.


	10. Choices

The temptation to drop Florianne flat onto her back and storm out of the hall was almost too much to pass up.

Isii knew what it looked like when a predator was sizing up its prey. Florianne may have been nothing but smiles and pleasantries on the surface, but she had spent the dance analyzing her, peppering her with questions. Isii struggled to focus on performing the steps and Florianne had taken her distraction for weakness. Perhaps she thought she could manipulate the Inquisitor to suit her own ends. Isii knew that warning her about Gaspard’s mercenaries was not done as a kindness. She was playing the Game. Whose side she was on, however, was anyone’s guess.

Isii parted from Florianne, making her way back up to the gallery. Her people were waiting for her, advisors and companions alike, watching her intently as she approached. Though the hare mask hid her face, Isii could tell Josephine was beaming. “You will be the talk of the court for months!” She said, her smile broad. “We should take you dancing more often.”

Isii dropped her false smile. “Only if you wish it as a punishment.” She grumbled.

Dorian laughed. “More nimble than when I was your dance partner. Apparently you simply needed a woman’s touch.”

“Onto more important matters,” Cullen said, shooting a strained glance at the Tevinter, “we need to speak of what happened in the servant’s quarters.”

Isii’s eyes made a cursory sweep around them to check for potential eves droppers. “A very, very long story shortened— we were attacked by a group of Venatori. I also found Gaspard’s dagger in one of the corpses they left behind.”

Leliana shook her head. “The man would truly do anything to become Emperor.”

Cullen pushed his mask up, running his hand over his face. Isii was familiar with the deep ridge that formed in his tightening brow. It was reserved for moments when the Commander was truly concerned. “Then the attack on the Empress _will_ happen tonight.”

“Warning Celene is pointless.” Josephine said. “She needs these talks to succeed and to flee would admit defeat.”

“Then perhaps we should let her die.”

Isii fixed her eyes on Leliana. The spymaster looked back at her calmly, but there was a fierce and brutal resolve in her stare. “You can’t be serious!” She snapped, louder than intended. She lowered her voice to a hiss. “After all this… this… _shit_ I have had to put up with in order to take on this mission… Why are we even here if not to stop the assassination?”

“Hear me out.” Leliana said. “What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen. To foil his plan, the empire must remain strong. This evening, someone must emerge victorious.”

“And it doesn’t have to be Celene.” Cullen said quietly, mulling over the thought. “She’s right.”

“You too?” Isii shouted, turning her glare to Cullen.

“Dar’atisha, vhenan.” Solas murmured to her, touching her arm. She took a deep breath. She wanted to hit something, but Solas was right. She needed to be calm. She could already see how their discussion was drawing unwanted attention. His brief show of concern was soon gone, the warmth of his touch vanishing as his hands returned to their position behind his back.

At least Isii was not the only one horrified at the spymaster’s suggestion. “Do you even realize what you are suggesting, Leliana?” Josephine asked, incredulous.

Leliana’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Sometimes the best path is not the easiest one.”

“As true as that statement is,” Solas began, “I do not believe this course is necessarily the right one. To allow an assassination of the Empress shows a weakness of the entire body of Orlais’ government. Even with a new leader at its helm, the throne will appear to be unstable, insecure and in a position of weakness.”

Leliana’s eyes narrowed. “And you are suddenly an expert on world politics? And elven apostate who wanders ruins like a pauper?”

“Enough.” Isii barked. The woman’s gaze drifted between the Inquisitor and Solas. Clearly she was analyzing them, perhaps seeing a connection there she had not before. At this point, Isii did not care.

“Either way, a decision must be made. Whoever controls the Imperial Throne will affect all of Thedas. We cannot make this choice lightly.”

Isii’s fists clenched at her sides. “We came here to save Celene.” Her tone was low, authoritative. She did not often give orders, but she certainly was now. “I will hear no arguments against it. Is that understood?”

Silence fell over the group. Josephine appeared relieved, but the others were tense. Sheepishly, Cullen nodded. Leliana was not so apologetic. Her eyes bore a challenge as she studied Isii. It was clear the woman still thought her suggestion was the correct course, even as she acquiesced. “Then you had better hope you can save her empire as well as her life.”

Cullen frowned, his eyes distant. Thinking. “If you are to succeed, you will need to find a way to crush any possibility of Gaspard’s ascension to the throne. If you can find any more concrete evidence of his wrongdoing, it might be a good start.”

“Florianne said that Gaspard has a mercenary captain in the royal wing who knows about the assassination plot.”

The crease returned to the Commander’s brow. “Which could be a trap.”

“More than likely, given how my evening is going.” She said, folding her arms across her chest. “I will look into it. But ready your soldiers. I am tired of this mess and I have a feeling things are going to get worse before this blighted ball is over with.”

“At once.” He responded. Isii nodded a dismissal and the advisers began to retreat to their respective corners. Cullen lingered a moment, lowering his mask. “Be careful Inqui—” He caught himself, pausing before his tone softened. “Be careful, Isii.” He corrected.

She shook her head with a tired laugh. “At this point, I make no promises.” Cullen gave a weak smile, but it was uncertain. Unsteady.

Isii shot a look to Dorian who was peering at her curiously. “Come on, you two.” She said, giving the mages a nod. “And Cole, if you’re actually nearby.”

“So many masks here. Faces under faces. Hidden in layers.” Cole could not be seen, but Isii heard the quiet murmur of his voice, disturbingly close to her ear. “The ones with skin are the most confusing. People think they’re real.”

“I’m not going to even pretend that made any sense to me.” She said, turning to walk back toward the Vestibule.

Dorian picked up his pace a step to walk alongside her. “Did I sense a little moment there with our blushing Commander?”

She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. Dorian knew full-well what she thought about Cullen and the rumors that circulated among the members of the Inquisition of their involvement. He was a friend and a person she respected, but nothing more. It wasn’t like there weren’t just as many rumors about her and Dorian making the rounds at this point, which was even more laughable. Only those in her inner circle appeared to have sensed the change in her relationship with Solas, so the whispered speculations about her love life with shems persisted.

She was in no mood for his teasing.

“Dorian. I love you. But please shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Dar’atisha – be calm, be at peace.


	11. Emm'asha, Da'halla

His little halla was a wonder.

She held herself together, even as the night’s carefully laid plans crumbled into ruin. She didn’t crack, even as she walked them straight into Florianne’s trap. He could see the panic on her face as she evaluated the field, taking stock of how truly outnumbered they were. He could see her doubt, watched as worry crept into her eyes. He knew she was silently calculating how many men she could strike down with a lightning chain before the fighting even started, her magic trembling like an itch against the Veil. Yet these were subtle gestures. To her enemy, she was untouchable, proud, unafraid.

They came dangerously close to dying that night.

Even so, it was exhilarating to watch her. He was fascinated to see so much ferocity in such a small frame. Her body pressed against the barriers he warped around her, every muscle taut, ready, struggling to push forward, to launch herself into the fight. She bore her teeth, snapping and snarling as she cast. Freed from the restrictions of fighting with a staff, her movements were wild, animalistic and graceful. She tore at the Veil, clutching strands of aether to pull through and throw, fingers extended, elegant and deadly as her power surged through her. She was his warrior, savage and free despite the trappings of shemlen she wore about her body. There was something alluring about seeing her finery stained with blood and sweat; her dress torn in a well-earned victory.

It made him want her all the more.

Once they stopped Florianne’s assassination attempt, the Duchess had not been easy prey to catch. But his vhenan was a hunter, relentless and skilled. He never doubted that she would succeed, even if the night’s outcome was not what she had anticipated. She was a force of nature, a being to be reckoned with, so much greater than those around her and yet too humble to see it for herself. Florianne had underestimated her, thought her some weakling she could dispose of easily, and it cost the woman her life.

Isii disappeared to tend to the aftermath, negotiating the end of the civil war. No small feat, yet she made it appear natural. Effortless. When the leaders re-emerged, she stood beside Celene, trying to present an air of triumph despite the weary crease in her eyes.

He watched, amused and enthralled as she gave a rousing speech to the gathered Orlesians. In that moment, she was a battle-damaged Queen— her hair falling from its delicate twists, blood soaked into torn cream silks, her shoes long abandoned in the fighting. Her words were as powerful as they were brief. For a Dalish elf, for a woman who had no interest in politics, she possessed a natural power that drew others to her. She was born to lead. She deserved to be exalted, praised; seen for the incredible creature she was without the trappings of the false title of Herald. She reminded him of those who once fought alongside him, those who risked everything to throw off the shackles that bound them.

He would have been blessed to have her at his side then. With a woman like her, perhaps his rebellion would have carved a very different path than the one this world had taken in his absence.


	12. The Dance and the Game

She just wanted this night to be over.

Isii welcomed the silence as she padded out to the balcony. Only then did she feel she could truly start breathing again. The stone felt good against her bare feet – cool and smooth to the touch. At least she didn’t have to put up with those blighted shoes anymore. She did not look forward to explaining to Leliana that they had been left somewhere in the palace, angrily tossed in a corner in a fit of frustration and rage during the fighting.

She could see the twinkling flicker of the street lamps of Halamshiral in the distance. The city glittered in its slumber. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t all so tarnished. None of the shems here deserved such a place, with their false faces and cruelty. Once, she had dreamed of what Halamshiral could be, of returning it to what it once was. As a child she spent her nights constructing such a place in the Fade; a home, a real home, one with walls and borders and no shems to chase your aravels away. She fantasized about channeling Elgar’nan, serving as his warrior, raining down vengeance on the humans who ran them from the Dales and retaking their city. She would raze it to the ground and then rebuild in the image of Arlathan. The elves would no longer have to live in fear. Her people would have a home again.

Now she could see the foolishness of such a notion. Her dreams of what Halamshiral might have been belonged only in the mind of a daydreaming child. This vision could never come to pass. The elves would never again rise up to take their home back.

Not in her lifetime.

“Here at last I find our absent hero.” Isii turned at the sound of Morrigan’s voice, the woman eyeing her curiously as she stepped out onto the balcony. “Hidden away despite the efforts of all of Orlais to find you.”

“Everyone suddenly wants to talk to me.” Isii said dryly, still looking out over the cityscape. “You, at least, I am glad to see.”

Morrigan chuckled softly. “If you are still playing the Game, there is no need. I have little patience for such things myself. I prefer it if you speak your mind plainly, as I intend to do the same. If your words are not idle flattery, then I bear happy news, as you shall be seeing a great deal more of me.” Morrigan’s golden eyes shone as she gave a coy smile. “By imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition.”

Isii crossed her arms, eyeing the woman cautiously. “I see. And in what capacity will you be serving the Inquisition? As an informant for Orlais? Or shall you try to advise me in a way that would serve Celene’s best interests?”

Morrigan grinned at her, amused. “Smart questions, yet both imply a false conclusion. I am not being handed to you as a spy, Inquisitor. I am being provided as an asset for your use.”

“And what use might that be?”

Her smile was secretive, her gaze intense. “I have knowledge which falls beyond the realm of most mages. I suspect this is also true of Corypheus. Thus it behooves you to add to your arcane arsenal, yes? Mundane knowledge will not bring the rift in the sky to a close, after all. Perhaps you are already lacking when it comes to having someone to guide you into the more ancient corners of magical knowledge? I had the unique fortune of having a very good teacher in such matters. Whether that is a blessing or a curse is yet to be seen.” Isii followed the woman’s gaze as it shifted to the doorway leading back into the palace. Solas stood, leaning against the frame of the threshold. He was watching the exchange attentively, his eyes locked on Morrigan from behind his wolf mask. Isii couldn’t resist the urge to smile. He was a welcome sight.

 “Welcome to the Inquisition, Morrigan.” She said quickly, hoping the woman would take it as a dismissal.

The Occult Adviser took a moment, evaluating Solas before turning her gaze back to Isii. “A most gracious response. I shall meet you at Skyhold.”

Morrigan left with a nod, turning and sauntering back to the doorway. Solas watched her as she passed, his eyes narrowing before he stepped onto the balcony.

“I am not surprised to find you out here. How are you feeling, emm’asha?”

“Orlais can go to banalhan for all I care at this point.” She said, shaking her head. “I have long since stopped caring which shem gets to sit on that blighted throne. I just want tonight to be over with.”

He smiled softly, picking a loose strand of white hair off of her mask. “Do not overlook your achievements, vhenan. You single-handedly stopped a civil war.”

Her laugh was tired, weary. “I suppose you helped.”

“You have brought peace where there was none. Enjoy that. Moments such as this are fleeting enough. Hold onto them when you can. Celene should be a steadfast ally. Briala as well, thanks to your efforts on her behalf.”

Isii looked over the slumbering city once more. “Perhaps now our people will get better treatment in Orlais.”

“Our people?” She glanced back at him, seeing his eyes narrow in confusion. “Who… Ah! You mean elves.” She frowned at him as he let out a soft laugh. “Pardon the confusion. I do not consider myself to have much in common with other elves.”

She paused, watching him. “You truly puzzle me sometimes, Solas.” He stilled, watching her intently as she shook her head. “Though I will admit, you’re not much like any other elf I have known. I suppose you’re not defined by your ears. Though,” she said, tilting her chin up to face him, “I would hope you’d feel at least some kinship in the fact that we are of the same blood.”

His features softened. He slid his hand over her own as it rested on the railing, his fingertips tracing over her skin. “”How could I not, Lethallan?”

She turned her hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. “People define themselves by their associations – by family or race or clan. But not you.” She said, looking up at him. “It always surprises me but… I admire that. I don’t think many people know who they are the way you do.”

He blinked. Though difficult to see from behind his mask, she could tell he was surprised. Surprised and pleased. “Thank you. For saying that and…” he paused, searching his thoughts. “And for seeing it. Few in this world can see me for what I am. They simply perceive a quiet man with pointed ears and set their assumptions accordingly.”

She smirked. “I don’t suppose your more rustic choices in clothing help in that regard.”

He laughed again, a low soothing rumble. “I suppose not.” She looked up at him, studying his face and the mask he wore over it. His pale blue eyes shone with the same silver shade as his mask in the low light of the evening. The brow of the mask arched away from the center as if always measuring, evaluating, half-way to a snarl. Etching drew lips that peeled back, elegant lines suggesting the shape of bared teeth. It was strange to see him this way, but not altogether displeasing.

“I feel as though I should be thanking you.” He said. “You have performed your duty beyond the level that was required of you. Being at your side tonight has been a fascinating experience. You surprise me in more ways than you know.”

Her face brightened. “Oh?” She began, drawing closer to him. “Tell me how I’ve surprised you.”

“That would take far too long, ma sa’lath.” He said, his voice lowering to a murmur. “Perhaps I shall write an extensive list for you later. Though I will say it was a pleasure to confirm that your grace in battle also extends to your dancing.”

She laughed, nearly snorting as she released his hand. “Now I know you’re a liar.” His eyes narrowed behind his mask. “Does it seem frivolous to say that even after all the bloodshed, the dancing was still my least favorite part of the evening?” She leaned back against the railing. “I honestly hate shemlen dances. They have no soul. Dancing is supposed to be drums and stomping and feeling the heartbeat of the music in your body. Dancing is supposed to be wild and sensual and free.”

“I hope to see you dance in such a way, vhenan’ara.” He said, a slow smile tugging the corner of his lips in a way that brought a flutter to her stomach. “It would be a compelling sight, I’m sure. Something new to experience.”

“There is little chance of getting anyone at Skyhold to play anything resembling Dalish music.” She said with a shrug. “You will simply have to be satisfied with my feeble attempts at the shem’s routines – stiff and awkward and lacking in any form of passion.”

“I would not say their ways are entirely without merit.” He turned his head as the hall burst into polite applause, announcing the shift from one song to another. “Come,” he said, offering her his hand, “before the band stops playing.”

She peered at his hand before her eyes met his once more. “You know how to dance like a shem?”

He smiled, that same crooked smile from before. The smile that wasn’t quite like Solas. “I believe I know many things that you would find surprising.” He gestured once more with his hand. “Dance with me.”

She tentatively slid her hand into his and he pulled her closer, his arm resting comfortably around her waist. “Aren’t you skipping ahead, vhenan?” She asked. “First there’s the bowing and the stupid palm pressing and—”

“Not all dances are of the same routine, da’len.”

“I only know the one…”

He smiled patiently. Lovingly. “I will guide you.”

Her apprehension soon washed away as he pulled her into the dance. His movements were solid. Steady. Though the steps were similar, it felt worlds apart from dancing with Dorian or Cullen. Dorian’s arms had been loose and disinterested; an only partially willing dance partner, roped into the activity by Josie’s request. Cullen had been tentative. Nervous. He held her at a distance as if afraid to touch her or perhaps was too focused on getting the steps right to relax. Solas’s hold was firm. Confident. He moved with a slow, deliberate fluidity. Not floating from step to step, but sweeping, placing his feet soundlessly. He used a gentle pressure in how he touched her, guiding her movements with how his hand slid against her waist, making it effortless to follow. She didn’t worry about stumbling, did not feel as if she were about to crash into him at any moment. This was different. This was something she could surrender to. His dance was a lullaby of movement, set to the pace of their breathing. His hands pressed her closer, their bodies soon brushing against one another in the swell of each turn, his chest to her own, his hips flush to the front of her dress and suddenly she wished she did not have so many layers of fabric in her skirt.

“I’m quite sure the shems don’t dance this close, vhenan.”

“My apologies,” he murmured, but he did not sound sorry. “As we are finally alone, I could not resist.”

“Good.” She said, tightening her grip on his shoulder.

They continued to dance, to step in time to the dips and swells of the music, but their rhythm distinctly changed. He held her closer and her hand slipped from his shoulder, wrapping around to his back. He murmured to her in Elvhen, words she did not understand and yet they were honeyed in her ear. The hand on her back slipped lower, pressing her hips forward against him as he gripped her, his lips moving to her throat. She breathed his name in a sigh, brushing the shell of his ear with her mouth.

She slid her hand across the nape of his neck, fingertips inching higher, gripping the straps that held on his mask and pulling them away. He shifted back from her throat, a soft muffled objection as she slipped the mask from his face. “You don’t need that anymore.” She whispered, the metal ringing as she let it fall to the ground. She pushed her own mask up, eagerly bringing her lips to his.

 _Creators, this is what a kiss should be._ His teeth tugged at her lower lip, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She didn’t have to tease him or coax him. That hunger was there already, waiting to devour her, leaving her breathless as he pulled away, allowing her a single gasp before slating his mouth over hers again. They weren’t even pretending to dance now, though she could still feel the sway and the swell of their bodies pressing together. His hands searched her, making her shudder. She wanted more, wanted desperately not to have this awkward dress keeping her from feeling the warmth of him against her.

He pulled away, his face lingering close to hers. “Do you still find the dance passionless?”

She lifted her brow. “The dance? Yes. But the right partner certainly changes things.” She brought her lips to his again, teasing her tongue against his own before pulling away. “You know what I said the other day about sneaking away for you to tend to my wounds? The library seemed like a nice quiet little place for us.” She said, grinning mischievously.

He brought his hand to her face, tilting her chin up with his fingers. “Are you saying you’re injured, little halla?”

She hummed. “I don’t know… with all these layers on… you may have to help me check, _Wolf_.” The smile that spread across his lips made her stomach jump as he brought his mouth to her neck, growling softly as his teeth scraped across her throat. Her heart fluttered. Excited. Surprised. This was so unlike him but she wanted more. She tilted her head back, grinning, whimpering softly at the feel of his teeth as he kissed a trail along her skin, wandering her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone. She lowered her head, gasping, opening her eyes…

And saw Dorian standing in the doorway, a smug grin plastered wide across his face.

Isii glared, speaking through clenched teeth. “ _Not. Now._ ” Solas pulled back, looking at her in confusion before following the line of her gaze, pulling his body from hers as he discovered their new audience.

“Oh, I see then. Shall I go back to Commander Sweet Cheeks and tell him that you’re otherwise occupied?” He asked with a smirk. “He seemed fairly insistent that you were needed in the Vestibule. Something about speaking to high-ranking members of court, solidifying the Inquisition’s newfound alliance with Orlais… but clearly you have better things to be doing at the moment.”

Isii took a deep, strained breath, pressing her fist to the bridge of her nose. “Dread Wolf take you I swear to…. _Fine_.” She growled. She turned to Solas, grabbing his shirt front, pulling him close enough to whisper in his ear. “I’ll find you again before the night is done. I’m not finished with you yet.”

He nodded, a quiet, understated smile on his lips. “Ma nuvenin.” He murmured.

She slipped her mask back down, running a hand uselessly over her mussed hair. Dorian gave her an impish grin as she moved to pass him. “Not a word out of you.” She hissed. He followed her, the sound of his laughter trailing after her footsteps.

Solas stood alone on the balcony, watching her leave, his heart still pounding. He wanted her in a maddening way, a way that was hard to govern.

Tonight, he’d failed to even attempt to stop himself.

He glanced down at the mask, the hollow eyes angled up to face him.

“ _You don’t need that anymore._ ”

He quietly bent down to pick it up, slipping the wolf’s face over his own.

It was time to return to the Game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Banalhan – a place of nothingness. The source of the Blights according to the elves.
> 
> Ma sa’lath – my one love
> 
> Vhenan’ara – my one desire
> 
> Vhenan – heart, love
> 
> Da’len – little child
> 
> Ma nuvenin – as you wish
> 
> ***
> 
> I hope you enjoyed our little trip to Halamshiral!


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